


The Cull

by Writingbyella



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Doctor Feels (Doctor Who), Doctor Who Feels, F/F, F/M, Female Doctor (Doctor Who), Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingbyella/pseuds/Writingbyella
Summary: A mysterious redhead, an ancient saying, a dystopian present. How could the Doctor resist?





	1. Chapter One

My name is Sunshine. The year is 2167. It is my twenty first birthday, a birthday I will be celebrating from the confines of a house, in Glasgow, just as I have spent each birthday before it.

Normal girls get to upload themselves to The Net, an online club that plays vintage music; Kanye, Bieber, Lorde – the kind of stuff my great grandparents probably grew up listening to. But not me. I’m not allowed to upload myself anywhere, not allowed to go to the shop to buy some milk, hardly ever allowed in the garden. I’m what dad calls a ‘ _protected’_ species, you see. ‘ _Caged’_ would be a better word.

I’m the last one left; the last ginger.

That’s why I’m not allowed outside or online. Because I could be killed or injured outside, and someone could spike my online drink with a virus, corrupting my MC1R mutation, meaning that when I downloaded myself back to reality, I’d be dead. And then my dad would lose the only family left in his life.

So here I am, sitting, listening to nothing. Listening to the background noise of a fan whirring in the kitchen. I wish I could go outside. I spend hours imagining the feel of wind on my skin. I sometimes sit in front of the fan and close my eyes; imagine I’m out there, somewhere, wind in my hair. It’s not the same, but it’s an escape of sorts.

I can hear the fan sputtering; I assume the Wi-Fi connection is faulty again – the signal has been really intermittent in the north since the last solar flare.

I get up from the sofa to go and turn the fan off. It’s surprisingly cold for Glasgow in November; only 21 degrees’ highs, so it doesn’t really need to be on. I go to open the door but it hits something the other side and won’t open more than 30 centimetres.

That’s when I hear the cough.

_I’m supposed to be home alone_.

_Fuck_.

“Hello?” A confident southern English voice rings out behind the kitchen door.

She – if I can assume she is a she - sounds kind, which should relax me... but I know that anyone can be a threat.

 

**

 

 

I should probably explain. Back in the year 2017, scientists speculated that gingers could be extinct in 150 years. Nobody really took it seriously for a while, because genetics are unpredictable and mutations happen, so everyone thought gingers weren’t really threatened as much as they were. I mean, really, the threat didn’t come from genetics, not the way the scientists expected, at least.

The deaths started around 2070. Nobody noticed for quite a while. They did it silently, and slowly enough that it was almost invisible. Then, one day, a news report suggested the population of gingers had dropped by almost 50%. Sensationalists called it terrorism, scientists called it nature, but were sceptical that the population could have dropped so drastically. My great grandma called it “systematic depopulation”, mumbled bitterly into my ear as she hugged me goodbye one weekend, _“keep your sen safe duck. they’ll do it to the northerners and Scottish next. You can’t kill a witch. You can’t kill a witch_. _”_ Never knew what she meant by that. Probably never will.

It took about 30 more years before they realised that we were being killed off. Ginger babies suddenly had a mortality rate of 80.1%, but none of the reasons for death seemed _normal_ ; all ‘horrific accidents’. And then later, in 2110, statistics showing the fatalities of young children and adults admitted to emergency departments was 20% ginger, stupidly high considering the population of gingers at that point was 0.25%, and the technological capacities we had to save lives; it meant every single ginger that had ended up in emergency care that year had ‘died’ there. _Murdered_. 

Why? Who? Nobody was quite sure. Fingers pointed everywhere. Some theorised it was global warming fantasists, killing off those who were ‘weak’, who wouldn’t bode well with more solar flares and the heat to come. Some said it was terrorism, attack on the whitest of the west. Some said it was the illuminati. Some said it was capitalists. Some said it was the government. The government said it was the scientists. The scientists said they didn’t know who or why. Either way, someone was killing us off.

Gingers went into hiding. So did some of those who suspected they might have ginger genes, just in case. When mum found out she was pregnant she was terrified. She knew there were ginger genes in both sides of the bloodline. They hid straight away, never went to hospital check-ups; they were screening for gingers now. Recommending abortion before they were born – to save families the pain of the inevitable loss. The inevitable murder. Nobody could be trusted.

That’s why she died. My fault. She didn’t get hospital check-ups, so when I was born and the blood didn’t stop, they couldn’t do anything. 24 hours after my birth, my dad had finally found a black market doctor we could trust. But as they rushed back to the hideaway to save her, it was already too late.

Since then we’ve moved four times, all around the south of Scotland, me and dad, trying to hide best we can. Keep on the move. Keep me safe.

_And I thought we were succeeding, until I heard the “hello” coming from the kitchen._

 

**

  

“Is anyone there?” The voiced shouted out again.

I didn’t know where to hide. We’d obviously prepared for the situation that someone might come to take me, but it was like my body suddenly rejected every single one of the hiding places in the house in favour of shouting back at the voice.

The “ _I’m here!_ ” wobbled out of my mouth before I could clasp it between my shaking fingers and prevent its escape.

_Shit_.

“’ello? Where are you?” Another voice, this time; a northern English drawl.

I cursed myself for being so friendly to someone who was probably here to try and kill me. I’d inadvertently become the dumb character in the horror films who walked towards the danger rather than getting the hell out of there.

“I’m.. I’m in here. Through the kitchen door?” I replied.

“Oh - _Oh_! There’s supposed to be a door here. Sorry, parking has never been my strong suit. One se-” The northern woman spoke again.

“Yeah, Doctor, you might wanna fix that, now that you’re a woman, ya know. Don’t wanna perpetuate stereotypes.” Her friend replied.

“Bill, I’m the last of my kind. I’m the most sought out species in all existence, do you really think anyone will be commenting on my parking just because I’m now a _woman_?”

There was a moment of silence and then,

“Yer, alright, point taken.”

My head was racing. She said it. Last of my kind. Did that mean.. could that mean.. I’m not the last one left?

“A-A-are you ginger?” I stuttered.

“ _No_!” she yelled a little too angrily, “2,500 years of time and space and STILL. NOT. GINGER.”

“Doctor-” Bill interrupted

“Right, yes, okay – two seconds and we will be with you – hey, what’s your name?” The Doctor lady shouted through the kitchen door. 

“Sunshine,” I replied.

“Nice name! See you in a second, Sunshine!”

The sound of the fan again, only now I realised it must be some sort of engine. The noise stopped and the kitchen door swung open, another set of doors wide open behind it.

A blue box, like nothing I had ever seen before, and inside, a golden light beaming out like stardust. And in front, striding towards me, two women.

“Hello, I’m the Doctor. This is Bill. _How can we help_?”


	2. Chapter Two

 I stared at the two women, sort of dumbfounded. I’ve not spoken to anyone properly apart from my father in years. I didn’t know what to say, how to explain. _How can we help_ , they said, _how can we help_.

_Where do I begin_?

“Where are we?” Bill asked.

“Somewhere in Glasgow” I replied.

“Yeah.. but where exactly? Cause I’ve been to Glasgow. Took my ex-girlfriend there a few times.. don’t remember it being so.. underground.”

I explained that the solar flares meant most people were living underground now, only to go out when the news said it was safe, but we were in a particularly empty area because we were in hiding. That’s when the Doctor perked up. She’d been walking round the room muttering under her breath, randomly shouting words out that made no sense.

“Sorry, yes, hello! Me again. Sorry, not quite... complete. Regenerations a bit.. wiggly – WIBBLY WOBBLY. No – no. Not me. Not me... Did you say _hiding_?” She asked.

“Yes.. I’m ginger?”

“Don’t rub it in,” The Doctor huffed, “why would you be hiding if you’re ginger? What year is this?”

“It’s 2167. I’m the last ginger left.”

“What?!” Bill laughed, “Doctor, how can she be the last ginger left?”

“No.” The Doctors face had turned dark. “No. **No**! This is Earth, yes?”

“Yes? Where else would it be.. we’re not online or anything if that’s what you mean?”

“No, but, Doctor, like, how can _she_ be the last _ginger_ left?” she paused, “Sorry, don’t mean that to sound rude, just, gingers don’t go extinct – do they, Doctor?” Bill looked more perplexed than anyone I had seen in a long time.

“Well,” I faltered, “I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m the last one left... if there are anymore, they’ll be in hiding like me.”

“NO!” The Doctor shouted, “this doesn’t make any sense. Earth. 2167. You should be beyond technologically advanced; you should be taking your first steps towards living amongst the stars!”

“Only the rich.” I muttered.

“What?”

“Well, a lot of people can’t afford it, have to suffer with the solar flares and risk of radiation. Since global warming started making most areas almost uninhabitable, price of houses in the stars rocketed. And obviously if you’re ginger you can’t just go waltzing about on a huge starship to your new public pad.”

“Why?” Bill asked. 

“You really don’t know? Where did you come from? _Who are you_?”

There was something oddly disarming about the pair, I assumed they were a couple. From the concerned looks that Bill kept giving the Doctor, and the Doctor’s sly looks towards Bill when she thought nobody was looking, they must be? They were well matched for it.  Bill seemed soft and gentle, but like she was perpetually on edge, ready to fight. The Doctor.. seemed.. odd. I assumed she had mental health issues from all the shouting.. maybe it was a psychotic episode? But despite that, there was something about her, some glitter that radiated strength. Some magical force that told me she was going to save me. Save everyone. Save the gingers.

 

                                                             **


	3. Chapter Three

After explaining the Earth’s last 150 years of history best I could, there was a moment of pure silence. There was a taste of confusion in the air, and a hint of fire; an inaudible battle cry.

The Doctor was the first to speak.

“Who do you think is killing you off?” She asked me.

“I don’t know.. I often wondered but... I don’t know. It’s too scary to think about it.”

“You do know.”

“What? I don’t?”

“There’s something in your eyes that tells me you have an answer to that question. Maybe you just don’t know it.”

“My grandma said it was ‘systematic depopulation’. I’ve never heard of that phrase before, so I don’t really know what she meant, but my grandma was strange and she had this habit of getting a gut feeling and it being right, every time.”

“Is that everything she said – just that?” Bill asked, “Doctor?”

“Yes,” I answered, she’d say “ _It’s systematic depopulation, Sunny. You can’t kill a witch_.”

“So, what, you think it’s witches? Tell me witches ain’t real, Doctor?”

I replied before the Doctor could. “I dunno... I don’t think she believed in witches. Maybe, though, I don’t know.”

“DING! DONG!” The Doctor suddenly shouted.

Bill and I both jumped. Bill let out an exasperated sigh.

“Sorry about her, she’s regenerating. She’s not quite... done whatever it is she doing.. so she might seem a bit... weird. Although, even when she’s finished she’ll still seem weird, so... nevermind.”

“Regenerating?” I asked.

“Never mind that,” The Doctor interrupted, “I think I know who’s behind this.”

“Who?” We quizzed simultaneously.

“I think your great grandma was onto something. _Ding dong, the witch is dead_ ,” The Doctor smirked, “everyone, into the TARDIS, we’re going to the 80’s.”

                                                           **

_It’s bigger on the inside._ It’s like.. a metal circus tent inside. A huge console bang in the middle of the room, golden beyond all comprehension; starlight, and she whirls around it like a magician performing her final trick, an unlicensed surgeon performing open heart surgery on a mouse. Each lever she pulls and each button she presses just another note in the symphony of _where and when_. Its enthralling. Her. Bill. The TARDIS.


	4. Chapter Four

 

The noises and movement of the console suddenly halted. 

“Where are we?” Bill got in there before I had a chance.

“Number 10.” The Doctor answered. Her face was sombre but her eyes shimmered with anticipation. 

“What? In London? Cool! I’ve never been to London. Always wanted to see the Thames and the London eye, before it got burnt down. Wow, this is so cool.” I was shocked.

“You humans never fail to amaze me. I’ve just brought you to no. 10 downing street in 1984 and you’re interested in _sightseeing_.”

“Wait, Doctor, why _are_ we in 1984 downing street.. who’s Prime Minister?” Bill frowned, and then a look of complete shock took over her face. “No. No. Doctor, I’m not being funny but..” her voice trailed off.

“What’s going on? What are we doing here?”

The Doctor lifted her hand, examining what looked like gold dust floating around her fingers. 

“Your great grandma said it. _Systematic depopulation. You can’t kill a witch_.” She leapt up suddenly, grabbing a periwinkle coloured coat from a hook that seemed to be floating mid-air. “Let’s go!”

 

                                                             **

 

The room had a lot of green in it. That was the first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the TARDIS. An oppressively dark wooden green-topped table stood off-centre in the room. On top of this desk and the other two units in the room, there was a collection of mismatched decorations: lamps, candles, plants, an awkward striped chair sitting uselessly in the corner. The room itself screamed tradition and formality, but it was as though the inhabitant had attempted to make it homely with a rather pathetic looking small faux flower in a cylindrical glass vase.

 “And _who_ might you be, stood in my office without permission, nor appointment?” A stern and proper voice asked, as the three of us spun round to see a formidable face, one I couldn’t _not_ recognise. 

_Margaret Thatcher. First female Prime Minister of Britain_.

_What the fuck?_

The Doctor was the first to speak.

“I’m.. the Doctor. Affiliated with Torchwood and UNIT,” she flashed a rather battered looking identification card in Thatcher’s direction, “These are my associates, Bill and Sunshine. We’re here to save your life.”

“ _What_? Doctor if you think you’ve taken me to _save_ Margaret Thatcher...” Bill trailed off.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck is going on?” At this point I was completely lost.

“Ma’am, if you could give me a moment.” The Doctor asked, pulling us aside.

“Go along with it. I’ve got a plan.” She whispered.

Bill looked as unsure as I felt. Why were we saving Thatcher? What did any of this have to do with gingers?

“Look, Doctor, I’m all for destroying the patriarchy but not if it’s going to destroy anyone else - why are we saving _her_ ” Bill’s face wrinkled in disgust.

“I’m working on a theory... and if this theory is right... I’m going to need you to trust me. It could save a hell of a lot of people and change the future of the human race. But you’re going to have to trust me, okay?” said the Doctor.

“Okay.” Bill reluctantly replied

There was a knock at the door. The Doctor looked alarmed, and before Thatcher’s outstretched hand could take the handle, the Doctor caught it in its path.

“Ma’am, it is vital that we do not reveal our true identities to the rest of the cabinet. I will use the alias of Mrs Smith, my associate will be referred to as Miss Potts and Miss Ray, two students who are shadowing you to learn more about parliament.”

“Understood.” She said sharply, ripping her wrist out of the Doctor’s grasp. 

The Doctor stepped back towards us to allow Thatcher to greet the knocking guest. The door swung open to reveal a smartly dressed woman, in a dress suit almost the exact same colour as the TARDIS. I turned round to compare the colours and noticed the Doctor pressing a button on what looked like a weird ancient vibrator, and as she did the TARDIS suddenly became invisible. _Cool_. 

“Hello, Margaret – oh, my apologies, I did not realise you had guests.” The woman at the door spoke formally.

“No matter,” Thatcher said, “This is Mrs Smith a lecturer from the university of York and her two pupils. They will be shadowing me for a few days as part of their fieldwork.”

I was amazed at how fluently she lied. But then, she was a politician after all. 

“Mrs Smith and pupils, this is Miss Inlet. She, not unlike yourselves worked during her studies under me, and has since become my location manager.”   

“Yes, speaking of locations, I have confirmed the location for the upcoming party conference. It will be held at The Grand Hotel in Brighton on Saturday. A beautiful building. We will travel there Friday morning. You and Denis will be taken by a car arriving at 9am. I will follow in a second car. Would you like me to arrange Mrs Smith and company to join me in my car?” 

Thatcher nodded. “That would be satisfactory.”

I turned to look at the Doctor. Her face looked forcefully calm, as if she was trying to keep it from displaying any sort of emotion. Her mouth parted as if it was about to say something, then it closed, suddenly. 

“Right. Pleasure to meet you Mrs Smith.” Miss Inlet’s eyes lingered on the Doctor lips for a moment too long.

_Gay_. I thought to myself. _I guess Thatcher’s the only straight person in this room._


	5. Chapter Five

The car journey was becoming increasingly, stiflingly awkward. The Doctor seemed distinctly silent. Bill was trying to make uncomfortable small talk with Miss Inlet, who seemed pleasant enough but she had this stiffness about her, like she was trying far too hard to be something she wasn’t.

“So, why would you want to work for _Thatcher_ of all people?” Bill shot aggressively at Miss Inlet.

Miss Inlet frowned, but before she could answer, the Doctor suddenly piped up. 

“Miss Potts, _please_.” She hissed.

“Miss _Smith,”_ Bill huffed, “Why are you being so _weird_? Even by your standards.”

“I thought you were _Mrs_ Smith.” Interrupted Miss Inlet.

“Yes, you’re quite right,” The Doctor responded, “ _Mrs_ Smith. Not Miss.” She shot a glare at Bill. 

“Married,” Miss Inlet spoke in a low voice, “Pity. The most enigmatic ones always are.”

Bill frowned. _Bill must be getting jealous,_ I thought. Miss Inlet wasn’t trying to hide the fact she found the Doctor attractive.

The silence following the conversation had once again become stifling. The driver turned the radio up, loud, in what I assumed was an attempt to drown the awkwardness out of the car.

 _“Are you okay?”_ I whispered to Bill.

“ _Yeah?”_ She seemed confused.

“ _Good. I was worried you were upset with Inlet hitting on your.. you know.. girlfriend”_

_“She’s not my girlfriend?”_

_“Oh – but I thought-”_

“So, Miss _Inlet_ ,” The Doctor abruptly started, “Lovely name,” you could almost taste the Yorkshire accent, “Where does it come from?”

“Oh, I don’t really know, I’ve never looked into it.” She smiled, seeming to relax a little. 

“It’s interesting, an Inlet is a small arm of water, leading to a larger body of water. Your ancestors must have worked with water. Maybe they were fishermen.”

 “Or fisherwomen,” she laughed, “and then what does _Smith_ say of you?” 

“Oh, you know, my ancestors were all metal robots” She smirked, “No, though, my Mum did work with metal. Buildings, actually... she excavated and rebuilt old ruins from my home pla-” She trailed off.

“Ah, an archeologist. That was my first university course. So.. I'm not the first archeologist you’ve met then..” She fluttered her eyelashes. 

“No, actually, my wife is one.” The Doctor gave the woman a hard stare, before softly asking, “So what on earth are you doing on earth, _River Song_?”


	6. Chapter 6 - The Diary of River Song

**09/10/1984 **

“The Doctor will see you now”. What they really mean is “the Doctor will  
see you now and then.” Whenever his path conveniently meets yours; at  
whim not will. I have waited three years for him, here. And still he has  
not come, and I fear he will not. 

I thought I could learn his locations, so I could be there when he needed  
me. But historical records aren’t always so accurate with the timing,  
ironically. But I thought, he’s got to ~~visit~~ visit her. Surely. Margaret  
Thatcher. He’s got to come here, eventually. But no. Nothing.

Do I wait? Do I try another point in history? This book is unbearably  
empty without the tales he promised. How can I keep a diary about our  
time together, when we have met properly only twice. The two days I tried  
to kill him: as a child trapped in a suit, and the day I became River Song.  
Did he name me or did I name myself?  
Time and his lips are the only beings who hold the answer. 

I am not as patient as my father. I Don’t know how much longer I can wait. 

 

** 11/10/1984 **

The thirteenth incarnation of my love. Here. In the flesh.

They called him the Oncoming Storm; this name is  
repeated over and over amongst those who fear him. The Oncoming Storm.  
The Oncoming Storm. I never understood, but now I do. I may have met only  
two regenerations, but I know this. She is the first female, after twelve men.  
They were the Oncoming Storm:

She is The Storm.


	7. Chapter Seven

The Doctor and River Song. They spoke like no-one else I had ever met; it felt both bizarre and completely normal all at once. The two spent the rest of the car journey down to Brighton talking to each other - far too quickly for me or Bill to really keep up. Occasionally I would notice the Doctors hand gently touch River’s thigh and see the fire it lit in her eyes.

When we arrived at the hotel, it was as though the Doctor had completely forgotten why we were here in the first place. Her and River slunk up to their room, barely hiding the reason they were in such a hurry to get there. Bill and I decided to go and have a drink in the bar while they... finished. We were chatting; I was finally starting to relax, laughing and joking with Bill, until the ripping sound of a gunshot stained the air. And as it stained my clean white shirt, while I stared in horror at the pool of blood seeping out of my abdomen. And then the pain kicked in. And then I blacked out.

The last thing I remembered seeing was the face of my killer. The face and the gun in its hand; the gun that was now pointed directly at Bill.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


End file.
